Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Priyanka Naik is a virtual blogger friend. Met her on Facebook, and she
qualified as one of my many friends who inspire me to comment on their
posts in the form of verse. She , is a doctor and
diabetologist as well.

Turns out that she is also an author.

"Twists
of Fate" , published by Mahavir Publishers (2014) is her maiden offering.

I am always intrigued and interested when someone writes a book where a lot of stuff is shown happening in Mumbai. Call me old fashioned if you will. But I am even more interested when it does NOT have anything to do with corporate shenanigans, financial crookedness, high society shocking falls, gundas, police, banks, cheating, four-letter-words-used-as normal-conversation , television and Bollywood.

This is a story about 3 friends, Sharvari Joshi, Parizaad Sethna and Nandini Muzumdar, who lived, studied and grew up in Mumbai. Their adolescence, the social milieu in which they lived , their families, and their growing up into women, who go their own ways, perhaps , due to twists of fate.

The author starts out with what can be only called an ode to Mumbai. An introduction to the city where the three girls live out their stories. Their childhoods. A conservative middle class, possibly Shivaji Park(of old) childhood of Sharvari Joshi, high on sensible living, studies and traditional family relationships. The hi-fi , society conscious , parents of Nandini Muzumdar, who have no time for their 2 daughters . And a typical Parsee family of Parizaad Sethna, with a very generous indulgent doctor father, and a very kid friendly, observant, food expert, mother with a British background, but steeped in more Indian parental ethos than the actual Indians. All three girls, as youngsters have a favourite haunt, a Cafe Connect managed by Parizaad's mother , where they are fussed over by the lady who also has a keen sense of observation , and an ability to communicate and help.

The girls lose contact after college, and go their own ways. Some get married. And face their individual ups and downs. Some in very physical ways, and some in reams of mental trauma. Parizaad Sethna goes to the UK , to seek family solutions to her mother's puzzling memory situation, and makes her own life as a photographer.

The story is about the three lives, a meeting by chance many years later , back in Mumbai, and how they literally "feed" off each other mentally, trying to right the various situations, with their new learnings, and awareness of life.

The book is like the Mumbai suburban trains. They start with a tentative jerk velocity, which soon meshes into a rhythmic smooth ride, offering you life vistas that make you think.

For those like me , belonging to the generation before Priyanka's , who can identify with one of the girls , and had friends like the others, it is a joy to read through the growing up years. (I actually had a Parsi best friend). The author has a way with words, and great felicity of expression. Somewhere , as a doctor she is able to weave in the issue of Alzheimer's which is often the bane of many in old age, and the possible solutions that are available, medically and socially.

A few things though, in the book, seem a bit too convenient, in today's Mumbai, which is when the three girls meet again. That Parizaad's old house and the cafe remain unoccupied, and convenient for the get-together of the girls, in the face of the real estate sharks and the politics of Mumbai, which has changed a lot . Not impossible but surprising.

But I loved the ending. Nandini finding her calling and starting her nutrition diet set up, Sharavari doing her book, Parizaad with her mother, temporarily back to the place of her childhood, and her mother, responding suddenly to vague memory glimmers as she gingerly touches an oil painting from her past.....

A great first attempt by a young woman. It has been great reading about a Mumbai that I remember , and was a part of . It has been instructive as the author weaves in problems faced in today's modern family in the face of a society that sometimes doesn't move as fast as time.

So does this book have autobiographical leanings ? I don't know. But if it does, the book is richer for it.

A wonderful flow of the narrative, has you smiling and nodding occasionally, as you dip into the past.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

I guess no other generation other than mine, must have seen such vast changes in societal and other standards.

My earliest school , way back in the late fifties, simply banned earrings, and tikkas-on-the-forehead. The type of school, where Himaalayaa was pronounced as Himaleyaas, and caused many eyebrows to be raised at home. Later on, in high school elsewhere, with a slightly more Indian ethos, we were allowed small "rings" or metal stud earrings in the ears, and small tikkas on the forehead. The rings were what are called hoops today, and the size was such that you could try using them as toe rings and they would still be small. Once installed, these earrings were hardly ever removed, and some of my most traumatic moments were when I come home with just one earring, having lost the other. It was always gold, there was hardly a market for random metal jewellery, and by and by one was presented with an identical set of earring hoops, say, with a tighter clip. Suffice it to say, that even on non school, celebratory formal occasions, traditional stuff was the order of the day in jewellery, and no one really had a choice.

Today, with so many women in the workplace, I find that there is unlimited choice.

Jewellery now boasts of various metal bases, interesting beads in amazing colors, assorted lengths, attachments, and designs. There are many places selling these items, and fashion conscious folks match their jewellery to their outfits. Consequently, jewellery design itself has become an interesting profession.

A completely self taught jewellery maker and designer, she multitasks as an IT person, swimmer, mother, avid gardener and designer.

Her brand Koyri, (which means a Paisley shaped container, in which we normally keep kumkum powder with which we welcome ladies and is essentially a very Indian shape replicated often in embroidery), boasts of amazing stand alone earrings, jewellery sets, and necklaces, designed with the modern woman in mind. Stuff that can match your outfits, be they formals, traditionals et al.

Go check out her stuff at Koyri . She even has stuff for today's little girls . At Little Koyri ... Stuff to match every frilly frock and suit. And you will never have to worry, like my mother did , when I lost stuff in school.

Click to see a slide show of her products below.

Ensembles like necklaces and earrings. Sometimes Bracelets and earring sets. Twists, whorls and turns in dainty style, shapely beads, and an explosion of color.

She plans to expand into fridge magnets and bookmarks. Pendants and rings. No to mention Kurta buttons.

She also has a another exclusive service , one doesn't see much of, elsewhere.

Trusting folks often send her samples of outfits they plan to wear for an important occasion, and she designs matching jewellery to complete the look !

The biggest advantage of going to Koyri ? The most reasonable prices. Check her out.

And should you wish to indulge, there is a 20% off coupon , as above, for first time customers, who go from here.

Koyri is a labor of love from a young girl, who is coming to terms with her own amazing hidden designing talent, while still pursuing a full time busy life as an IT professional, daughter, wife, mother-of-a-very-young-son, and gardener.

Gunjan is a good friend of mine . I admire what she does, and wish her great success in whatever she does.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Published by Westland (2014) , this is the second book in the series, the first being The Mahabharata Secret, authored by Christopher Doyle.

The author's name intrigues me. Forty two years ago, I started my first job in Mumbai, along with another person who joined the same day as I did. The name of this other person was Christopher Doyle. :-)

And no . This author is a different Christopher Doyle. And possibly much younger . As it says in the introduction on the very first page, among many other impressive qualifications, he has his own band, that plays classic rock, and it is called Mid Life Crisis. (My colleague and I would have played in the Seniors Band)

I have not read the earlier book. And wondered about the link between Alexander and the Mahabharata.

The narrative flits between various ages and countries.

A time when Alexander the Great, besotted with the idea of being a God, triggered by his mother's revelations about a metal plaque and inscriptions on cubes, relentlessly drives his soldiers and nobles across the HinduKush, and mindlessly tends to kill those who oppose him, even in conversation.

It is also about a time , when a US-India Task Force ends up chasing the same in an effort to keep out those who are into perceived bio terrorism and seeking out the same cubes with inscriptions and secrets. There are investigations into finding unexplained corpses in labs, and sudden localised fires destroying pharmaceutical results and data.

And it is also about a group of international unlimited funding types, belonging to, what is called an ancient secret order, almost dating back to days of Alexander, who are again, after the origins associated with Alexander's search for becoming a God, and think nothing of participating in archaeological excavations, then blowing it all up, and killing anyone associated with it.

The Samudramanthan story , the churning of the oceans by the Devas and Danavas, is given a unique interpretation. Shlokas are mentioned, with alternative interpretations, which look plausible. There is an effort to look at the original fable(if you can call it that) in the light of various genetic discoveries at the nano level that are happening in the bio sciences today.

And all this happens on a wide canvas that ranges across fort structures, hospitals, laboratories, in New Delhi, excavations in Greece, mountains in various East European countries (Kazakhstan et al), Iran/Persia and Afghanistan, and assorted advisory appearances from Washington.

I have lately read many books that also follow the multi country, multi character, multi technology system, and develop a narrative. This review will not explain all the characters and outline a story. That is left to the reader.

I found that this book seamlessly flits across ages, countries and characters. More important, these characters are believable, often think like you and me. This may not be important to some, but it keeps one rooted while reading. Yes, there are villains in the story, plenty of them. (I have often developed a cynical attitude with characters-from-novels in their twenties, with a disdain for morals, money and family responsibility and a complete absence for any kind of restraint regarding words of abuse, which are flouted with impunity; and I have often looked for a mental beep to keep out those words. This book has none of that.)

One is amazed at the authors research that ranges across the Life and Times of Alexander and his successors and campaigns across Asia, Greek history mythology and Gods, ancient Sanskrit verses , and most of all, the science of aging with special reference to viruses, bacteria, and their activities in the DNA of humans, that define a human life.

The narrative flows well, the detailing of stuff is just sufficiently detailed so it keeps your interest going. It doesn't happen that you start turning the pages to skip excessive detailing of something, something that happens in some books. Unusually, in the book, the government doesn't always win, they actually sit and analyse what went wrong. There are two women characters in the book, Alice and Radha. (If you omit Alexander's mother, the Queen). They actually function more like synapses, and less like individual neurons in the story.

Somehow, one feels Alice isn't too useful once she gets to Delhi, and one rues the death of Radha.

The author manages to keep your interest throughout. And an annexure at the end of the book outlining details of historical characters, and biotech terminology is an excellent idea.

This book would probably ideal for converting it to a screenplay for a movie. It has it all. (If they make it in Bollywood, they might end up getting Radha back from the dead, using the knowledge gleaned from the ancient Samduramanthan. The author may kindly take note :-) )

Saturday, November 08, 2014

We have both , in a sense , moved on. Not physically, though. Many of the households she worked for, have retired and moved away, and she is of an age where she is not actively looking for new work, thanks to a set of well settled kids. I look forward to an impending move a year on. After which , "S" says, she too will retire, not look for any new work, and simply spend times with her grand kids.

She recently arrived 2 mornings ago, in a breathless way, all raring to finish her work and go somewhere. The middle son's wife who was expecting her second child , suddenly developed contractions early in the morning. The mother and husband rushed her to the municipal hospital, leaving "S" to mange the older kid and see him off to school with the others.

"S" had just received word, that initial examination revealed that the child had rotated at some point and it looked that it could be a breach delivery. That is, an attempt by the foetus, to arrive feet first. The doctors would try everything, and would do a Caesarean , if everything failed. "S" was a bit alarmed by all this, had a cup of tea with me to calm herself down, and then rushed to be with her son and daughter-in-law at the municipal hospital.

She returned back here to work this morning , now a grandmother of 5 grandsons. And desperately ruing the fact that there were no granddaughters.

The doctors at the place were clearly experienced and skilled, and they were able to orient the foetus to a more normal head first style, and perform a normal delivery. Mother and newborn child were doing fine, and would be home that day.

And "S" had some stories to tell.

When the two grandmas asked to see the baby, after a very tense two hours of waiting, the ward sister, would turn to the ayahs, and ask :

"Should we show the baby ? What do you say ?"

"Ask them what they are willing to pay ! " the ayah would reply.

The ward sister would shrug, look at "S", and the ayah would watch.

S pulled out her small wallet and hesitantly offered 3, 100 re notes.

The Ayah turned up her nose. Refused to accept it.

No baby.

S brings out one more note. The ayah turns away.

No baby.

Two more 100 Re notes later, a total outlay of 600 Rs, the ayah relents, smiles and says , "You see, there are six of us ..... ", and then disappears some place to bring the baby.

All this blatantly happening in full view of the ward.

The baby was brought in, greatly admired, kala tikkas put, and then taken back inside.

S told me all this when she came in this morning. I asked why she didnt report this to the doctor on duty . Baksheesh is something given with pleasure, and not like a ransom. She told me that after seeing the ward sister deferring to the ayahs on this, she didnt think the doctor would be any different. Besides with so many overflowing wards crowded with patients, it didnt seem correct to bother a doctor about such things, when he could be attending to some really sick person.

S is a hardworking single mother, who is now a hardworking but wiser , single grandmother. She still continues to work a few houses because she likes the thought of being independent and contributing to the house , and as she says, " Keep working till your limbs are capable of movement...". She doesnt earn a fortune, and never talks about such things.

And yes, that 600 rupees was a BIG sum for her. For frittering away. She would never think twice about spending it if it was needed for something like someone's medical treatment, educational fees and the like.

When her few moments of happiness at welcoming the latest addition to her family are marred by worries of money, it makes me wonder what kind of society we have become.

Growing up when and where I did, there was no culture of allocating a price to something as part of celebrations. Whether it was a new birth, or lost/stolen footwear of a bridegroom during marriage ceremonies.

There is something strange about a society, that still thinks nothing of throwing clumps of hair (cleaned from a comb) down from a balcony of a posh society, but thinks adapting to such modern moneyed customs to celebrate happiness is the thing to emulate.

Have we "formalized" happiness and celebration , by defining a value ? Have we imbibed a culture of "piling on" , where, all sorts of folks who never ventured near your house for any work, land up at Divali etc, to claim baksheesh as part of some group ?

Have we lost the grace with which these things are accepted, to the extent, that the ayah in the hospital bargained with "S" , for showing S her own grandson ? Is that a first introduction to the real world for the hours old child ?

What an entry into our world !

She is now back home, fussing around over the new mother and baby.

She just has one complaint. She was desperately hoping against hope that this would be a granddaughter .....

Friday, November 07, 2014

Those of us who grew up before outsourcing became a word, will understand.

I just read the article above that appeared in the paper today. I now understand why death services need to be outsourced.

I have lived in a Institutional Campus all my adult life. I have had the honor of being the caretaker, and looking after the elders in the family , who lived with me, in their last days. Twenty , thirty years ago, one discovered , that there were some dedicated folks in the community , who made it their duty, to assist families, who had just lost a dear family member. Word would get around, and these folks, who were actually proper employees of the place where one worked, would appear silently, offer condolences, and then quietly talk to responsible family members about anything they could help with. It could be about acquiring the necessary paperwork, organizing the infrastructure for carrying the body, requesting for hearse services, contacting those who conduct religious services. This was all done quietly, as the family came to terms with the sudden loss, the visitors , the folks from outstation who struggled to reach, and the enquiries about last rites. I remember , a bus being quietly organized and appearing at our doorstep, when it looked like several folks wished to be present for the last rites at the crematorium.

A quiet chat with the concerned gentleman later revealed that he did this as social work. His way of helping . Quietly. He had a team who worked with him. Quietly. In the days before cell phones, and loss of MTNL supremacy, he magically was able to contact the necessary folks .

A few years later, we heard that he had passed away.

My mother passed away rather suddenly, 14 years ago, in one of Mumbai's leading Municipal Hospitals, where she received outstanding emergency treatment and care in the ICCU. She always believed, that people created excellence, and not just technology or machines. Always someone who applauded honest work, and integrity in the face of spurious commercial and human solutions, and didn't hesitate to say so up front, she abhorred the corrupt practices that were creeping into day to day living, and had a running fight with such folks.

Numerous folks from outstation and the city, gathered at the crematorium to pay their respects, and were a great source of support in a situation, where there were just 3 members of the immediate family. There was all kinds of paperwork , and we were required to present a cremation certificate at the gate, along with a fee , which would then be forwarded to the concerned ward office for generating the required Death Certificate , within a week or so.

Just when I was about to submit the required cremation certificate at the exit booth, , someone suggested paying something substantially more than the published fee. To expedite things, it seems.

I pretended not to hear that. I was livid. My Mom would have been greatly upset, it would be insulting to her memory and everything she stood for. I paid the fee prescribed in big letters on the notice on the wall. As per rules.

To cut a long story short, the crematorium folks did not forward the certificate to the ward office, even a month after the cremation. There are so many situations where one needs to show this certificate , but I patiently waited. Repeated trips to the ward office every week, elicited the same response. They had not received the crematorium report.

I decided to take matters into my own hands and go visit the crematorium , and question them and demand answers and action. Maybe other folks would learn what was going on.

That's when some colleagues got alarmed at the possible scenario that could develop, and decided to help, and explained the situation to a gentleman in the community where we lived, who frequented the ward and other offices, to help folks.

He was aghast and asked for a week. Made some visits and calls. And the required paperwork was delivered to me in a week.

It is like a slap on the face to learn that we must now pay a bribe to be declared dead.

While the noble individuals who made it their vocation to help are no more, It is reassuring to know that there are social organizations now, who will "manage" everything for a fee. Probably a sign of the times, and possibly a need of the times we live in. With a constantly changing society profile , thanks to nuclear families, immigration, inflationary living, and other so called signs of having come up in the world.

Like everything else, dying costs.

There are now standards to be followed in holding memorial meetings, religious observances by those who insist on them, and so on. Strangely, one often finds that there is a lack of standards of respectful behaviour for the departed, amongst those whose official job is to help with their last voyage. Yes, there are exceptions. But few.

Thursday, November 06, 2014

The word "serious" has suddenly become seriously important. And although a recent usage was additionally adorned with waving of hands, shoving of electronic implements, associations with dry fruits , and a glare, one may think of several scenarios where some one's seriousness can be , what else, seriously questioned, without any movements of solid items and clickable contraptions.

Just think.

You read in the papers about tomatoes selling wholesale for 7 Rs a kilo. You still have a day before you do your weekly vegetable shopping, but this is too good to pass up. You rush to the local mandi with your recyclable bags, and insert the tomato question between the karelas and lauki selections. "40 Rs a kilo, auntyji" , he says, "Kitna kilo ?" , as he concentrates on throwing papdi on the weighing scale.

And I can only look back , mouth agape, and then quickly close it just as quickly, to ask him "Are you serious ?" (Notice that I don't grab the tomato or fling it at him)....

Another time, two law abiding , tax paying ,old ladies, are driving out of a gated community and finding themselves more than 70 percent across a huge wide crossing, they continue on as the traffic light turns yellow. It is just that there is a huge tree right in front of the signal, and peering thru the green foliage while driving might endanger several pedestrians. Suddenly , a vision in uniform looms ahead, waving them to the side. Windows down, a conversation ensues. There is a presumed receipt book and a pen in the hand of a traffic cop. He asks for the driver's licence. Then asks if no one noticed the signal .

The two old ladies get off. Rise to their full five feet something height. One of them has a cane. They ask the cop to accompany them to the middle of the crossing. They need to show him how the lush foliage of the tree blocks the traffic signal. He tries to pooh pooh their talk. Doesn't succeed. Tree cutting is not their job and needs permissions. The ladies insist that signal situating is clearly the cops' job. The entire drama is watched by the roadside small shops and vendors. The cop knows when he should change tactics. He starts waving, blowing the whistle and directing the traffic. When suddenly one of the ladies points to several bikes without helmeted drivers cruising by, and questions him as to whether he saw them . And why isn't he stopping and charging them. He looks at them with a mixture of pleading and surprise as if to say "Are you serious ?" Why don't you just go...?" .

Another day in the life of a normal working woman.

She comes back to work after an absence of 2 months, where leave has been duly applied for, sanctioned , and taken. Goes to the bank, only to find out that her salary has not been credited , despite this being paid leave or earned leave, as it is called. The bank says they credit whatever is presented to them in a monthly list . So she goes to the administration/accounts department of her employer. and asks around as to why her salary has been withheld.

Then someone sweetly smiles at her, and says , " You see, Mrs XXX is on leave for Ganpati, and she handles your stuff. Once she returns, your salary will be immediately credited. ...." . This is a government office. A lot of stuff frowned upon elsewhere, gets smiles here. Except from her.

She shakes her head. She has just spent half a working morning trying to figure out why they withheld her salary. She simply takes a deep breath, and gives the sweet smiling person a wide eyed "Are You serious ? " look, and slowly walks away.......

And then there are the funny days.

She goes swimming daily, and no one gives her a second look, as she huffs and puffs through her laps. There are many like her, desperately trying to fight a war between intake and weight, and most folks at the pool who are regulars and serious about swimming, respect her efforts, and let her be. One day she finishes her stuff, and sits back in the gallery to wait for a friend, only to run into an ex-neighbor.

The neighbor almost gets apoplexy, imagining an intersection of a podgy lady and Madhuri Dikshit, doesn't know what to say or believe, and simply looks at her with a shocked OMG look that says " You and Madhuri Dikshit ? Are you serious ?" :-)

And yet, while one comes to terms with things like rushing somewhere in the rain using three modes of transport, and then finding out that the event is cancelled, or having a person scrape your car while overtaking you, only to shout at you and make unsavoury comments about your perfectly good driving; or even a simple withdrawal transaction in a bank, for which they make you go to three different people, at three different desks, because they have issues with each other; one simply avoids confrontations of the "Are you serious? " type. In the interests of peace.

However.

Just however. If someone gave me crores, and said, "here, take this, and use it to buy something from us !" , I would go into a frightened trance, stare at the person, suspect his/her motivation and connections, immediately refuse vehemently, and wordlessly mouth the immortal words , " Are you serious ? Are you serious ?" and disappear from the scene.........

I guess I am in a stupid minority.

Smart folks smile, take the stuff, use it to make more money, and then use the "serious" question as an answer if someone questions.

Saturday, November 01, 2014

Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children. --Charles Swindoll.

There are banks. And there are bankers.

Sometimes the banks are more important than the bankers who purport to manage things.

And sometimes, the bank gets it reputation from the banker .

Most banks start out with not much assets of their own. By definition, the banks get deposits from their customers, which they say they specialize in investing, for good returns. As they build up their holdings, they also offer loans to people, and charge them interest. House loans, educations loans, vehicle loans. For some folks, the bank even offers deals where people can withdraw money even when they don't have sufficient balance.

Many times, the banks are unable to get back their loans for various reasons. For some loan recoveries, official letters are sent implying dire consequences, or they hire people who intimidate customers. On the other hand, if a customer comes into money unexpectedly and wishes to pay of a loan earlier, some banks make you pay for that too. As a person in debt, you must follow rules, not change them .

And when some of their own investments (the bank's) go awry, they are simply called NPA (non performing assets) and added to a list . Sometimes, someone in higher echelons indicates something, and all kinds of loans made to specially powerful kinds of folks, are written off. No one really learns a lesson.

And yet, these banks often find money to get a face lift, with newer features, like machines , decor, fancy designations, id neck pieces for employees, and so on. Transparent glass partitions are introduced, behind which , sometimes ,non transparent transactions get done. There are auditors to audit their financial behaviour. But hardly anyone audits management attitudes.

Such banks deal in crores, and mention anything in crores like you and I mention roasted chana or bhel.

I will call this Bank A.

But then there are other banks. Like Bank B. Single official banks. With amazing bankers.

Sometimes they have their own assets, sometimes held jointly with another entity. These are clubbed together . These banks don't beg customers for deposits. They do monthly analysis on how much can be put by themselves in a savings deposit.

Yes, they do have folks asking for loans. No recommendations from outside folks, but the banking folks ensure they know their customer well. No KYC, no Adhaar, no photos. But a good study of the customer's need, trustworthiness, and character. A flexible pay back system. Sometimes automatically deducted by the bank every month. Early sudden paybacks of loans are encouraged and enhance the customers loan worthiness. No penalties for early paying back of loans.

The bank even ascertains expenditure profiles of customers without having them fill forms. Any expenditures related to alcohol, abuse of household women and gambling , and the customers get blacklisted and loans refused. Expenditures related to education of children and elder care , are encouraged. These banks very rarely generate non performing assets, because there is a proper monitoring of how resources of the bank are spent. In fact, many times , the bank functions as a de facto counselor for troubled customers, and slowly brings them back in line.

These banks too, often imagine getting a renovation. But more often than not, the budget doesn't allow it. There are no interest payments coming in from debtors. Daily transactions are checked with an eagle eye, with a keen eye on the market situation, and investments in perishables and non perishables are astutely managed. These banks make planned savings for emergencies. There are no glass partitions needed.

Yes, there are no auditors either, because these banks self-audit. And file returns with the government every year. They never declare NPA's (Non Performing Assets), because they value their assets, work endlessly to get them to perform, and learn to be useful entities in society.

Bank A has fancy designations, and everyone has perks and wears formals. It does mergers and acquisitions in its pursuit of power, and sometimes even changes names. And pens for their customers' use are tied to shelves with chains, just in case a customer goes off with one in a hurry. They expect us to trust them with our money, but do not trust us with their pens. You see these banks everywhere. Existing and being monitored under the benevolent eye of the RBI. Folks can ask questions about this bank in Parliament.

Bank B, has only one designation. Woman-of-the-house. No perks. Except possibly a better and honest environment. The mergers and acquisitions also happen sometimes, and sometimes names are also changed( though it is never mandatory), but these are never in the pursuit of power, and simply enhance the bank ethos. Any number of pens are available for customers' use, and sometimes the bank even teaches illiterate customers how to sign their name in their language of convenience. You see these banks daily, and again, almost everywhere. They don't need an RBI, because they self regulate, and delegate duties down the years, so new trained folks emerge.

In Bank B , no one really wears formals. And no one dares to ask any questions about Bank B in Parliament.